Hiraeth
by perrialcott
Summary: Four years after the war, Harry is set adrift as a single parent caring for his godson, Teddy. A story of coming home, of second chances, and of finding yourself when it all falls apart. Eventual HP/DM.
1. Coming Up for Air

Four years after the war, Harry is set adrift as a single parent caring for his godson, Teddy. A story of coming home, of second chances, and of finding yourself when it all falls apart.

* * *

So, this marks my first immersion into the world of Harry Potter long fics. I'll be totally honest, this story took a long while to come to fruition, mostly because 2017 was an insane year, but also because I had to force myself to take the time to recognize that this story wouldn't be as true as it could be to what I envisioned if I didn't take the time to sort through the difficult feelings of what I experienced. Draco and Harry's struggles are partly inspired by a major heartbreak I went through twice (with the same person) this year, by my own realization that I will be doing this wild thing we call parenting by myself and adjusting to a new career.

I'm rambling but I hope that the love I intended to put into the characters and plot is able to shine through. And I hope that this story will immerse you in a world that's a little like coming home and a little like escaping from our routine lives, which is what my characters will be doing. There's humor, there's laughter, there's a little melancholy, a little aching, but in the name of healing.

The first few chapters may move a little slowly, as a precaution. A side note is that I am a complete sap for reviews, and I would love to hear from all of you on how you are enjoying the story.

None of this sadly belongs to me, except a few original characters, and everything wonderful belongs to JKR.

Oh, one more note: Hiraeth (noun) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

* * *

The New Year begins with a storm.

The storm is not a minor fanfare of light and sound, but a great and mighty crash. Spears of lightening strike the darkness and thunder roars as if the sky itself might split in two.

Harry watches the rain tiredly, wonders if it's a metaphor somehow for the state of his life. The water is iron grey and icy, falling in wild lines from silver, swollen clouds that move over London like bloated and slow beasts. The whole affair spills hard over the bewitched windows of the Ministry of Magic

"Mr. Potter, are you quite sure you're alright?"

Harry registers the question but doesn't entirely hear it. Instead, he's far away, somewhere up high and divorced from the searching voice.

He closes his eyes. Leans his forehead against the cool windowpane and follows the shapes of witches and wizards sweeping along the sidewalk and into the Ministry's atrium far below.

"Mr. Potter, please. This is important."

 _Each life has a critical inflection point_ , Harry thinks. And while he had largely - _falsely_ , he decides - assumed he had reached his fork in the road four years ago at the end of the war, it's a sharp and unforgiving angle that has brought him here, to the Ministry's Child Protection and Care Office.

Harry had been drawn out by an owl's post at dawn, trod through the snow and passing spirited couples swaying their way home, the champagne with the orange label he recognizes tilting this way and that in clutched hands.

It's a puncture to the stillness his life had taken on after defeating Voldemort and yes, _okay_ , the monotony that Harry had naively assumed would make him happy really hadn't at all but-

Harry is wise enough, _experienced_ enough, to know a moment like this will distinguish itself in hindsight with a clear Before and After when he inevitably reflects back.

 _Andromeda Tonks is dead._

The announcement flickers in and out of Harry's head, much like the voice of the woman across the office desk.

Harry drags his gaze away from the roiling storm to stare down hard at the sheaf of parchment in his lap.

It's filled with lengthy legalese that he doesn't quite understand.

What he _does_ understand, however, is that when he signs it, the parchment will _glow as bright as the sun, Mr. Potter and isn't that what we've really circled all around for?_ and seal the decision that a twenty-three-year-old Harry James Potter is now the guardian of a four-year-old Edward Remus Lupin.

"Mr. Potter?" Beatrix Plum, the woman who heads all magical adoptions, is soft-spoken with kind eyes the color of almonds. _A little like Molly Weasley_ , Harry had thought idly when the moon still hung in the sky and the storm had yet to threaten the celebration of a new year.

Harry eyes the space on the creamy stock where his signature is supposed to be, the unbridled fear he had managed to choke down that morning coming quickly back up and sitting in this throat.

He coughs a little.

" _Harry_." It's a tentative hand on his knee that breaks him from his reverie, throws him right into Hermione's anxious, amber eyes. Her brow is drawn down in concern.

"Yes, I'm fine," he eventually croaks.

"Andromeda had this drawn up in the event that she was no longer able to care for Edward," Beatrix explains softly. "She and I spoke at length about who would make a suitable guardian when she became sick."

She pauses. Harry feels her gaze, hot, on his downcast face. He doesn't think about Andromeda's sickness and he doesn't think about the premeditation of this.

"As his godfather, we believe you could provide a loving and nurturing home for Edward to grow up in."

Harry nods at her words, but they seem to merely float around him, not really absorbing.

Hermione's hand on his knee tightens and he can see the fine bones beneath her skin flex protectively.

"Right. Loving and nurturing," he echoes. His voice sounds hollow, detached from the body it originates from, and he doesn't say more than he needs to.

Because Harry knows that if he continues speaking every frightened and doubting thought he has will hurtle out of his mouth and he'd rather keep his mouth shut, the turbulent thoughts locked inside his head.

Hermione clears her throat beside him and sits forward in her seat, as much as she can with her heavily pregnant state. "Mrs. Plum," she starts," is there, um, anything else Harry - _Mr. Potter_ \- needs to do outside of signing the adoption form?"

"I've a few scrolls for Mr. Potter from Andromeda. And Mr. Potter, I'm going to need your signature here," Beatrix points a finger at one line on the parchment in his lap," and then finally here."

Harry's hand shakes as he takes the quill. _Stop it_ , he scolds the hand, and grips it more firmly.

He's doing this. The smiling faces of Tonks and Remus flash for a moment, followed closely by Sirius, bright as can be and painful, and he pushes them aside.

 _I'll come back_ , he promises them.

The quill shakes again.

 _ **I, Harry James Potter, hereby agree to act as the legal Guardian to Edward Remus Lupin, on this day, Friday, the first of January, two thousand and two.**_

He scrawls this as neatly as he can manage and once he finishes his signature floats off the sheet, burns blue, and then settles back, etched as permanently as if in stone.

 _Life After_ , he thinks.

"Mr. Potter, it's been a pleasure." Beatrix neatly folds the parchment and stows it in a smart envelope. She stands from her desk and takes a thick stack of envelopes fastened together with forest green velvet ribbon. "Andromeda wanted me to give you these. For both you and Edward." she says kindly.

Harry takes the envelopes, standing and helping his best friend out of her chair. Hermione's fragile hand is at his elbow, touch reassuring.

"Thank you," he whispers, heart heavy.

Harry and Hermione are about to turn when Hermione clears her throat. "Mrs. Plum."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley?"

Harry watches the side of Hermione's face and registers the hesitation in her features, the tightening around her lips and hand briefly resting on her growing bump before her eyebrows straighten out and her expression turns firm as though she's telling herself to forward on.

"I was wondering if any...any other _stakeholders_ in Teddy's well being have been notified of...Andromeda's passing?"

Harry's stomach turns sour. He knows what Hermione is delicately referring to and he does not miss the way Beatrix's face tenses.

"I assume you are referring to the Malfoy family."

"Yes."

Beatrix wavers. "The office sent an owl to Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy this morning. As you probably know, Draco's whereabouts are still unknown."

Harry does know. Out of the corner of his eye, he notes Hermione's mouth flickering at one side.

No one in the Wizarding world has seen Draco Malfoy since the end of the war following his family's trials and not many a soul had searched long or hard for him. Not that Harry has any particular problem with the disappearance of his once school rival but a gentle part of him yanks a little bit at the thought that Narcissa Malfoy is now alone in the world as the last remaining Black family member.

"Right. Well." Hermione takes Harry's elbow again and squeezes tightly. Harry hangs on as long as he can before shaking Beatrix's hand and they depart the office for Teddy.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter?" Harry turns to face the motherly looking woman from the doorway. She gives him a comforting smile and nods faintly. "What you're doing is wonderful. For what it's worth, I think you will make an excellent parent."

* * *

The Ministry halls are empty spare for the infrequent memo flitting along a corridor when Hermione and Harry step out of Beatrix's office to walk slowly toward the cheery waiting room and linger until Teddy's paperwork is approved and Harry can collect him.

The rainstorm has not relented and thunder threatens the stained glass windows as they both move in silence toward the twinkling Christmas lights over the doorway.

Harry clutches Andromeda's envelopes to his chest and his eyes catch each doorway, unable to concentrate on anything solid.

"Do you want to open the letters?" Hermione's whisper is loud against the turquoise tiles lining the corridor.

"Not really."

Hermione's hand is at his wrist when they pass the entrance to the Auror Department, fluttering as though she thinks Harry might dart through the double doors he hasn't walked through in months and vanish.

"Do you miss it?"

Harry doesn't have an answer for Hermione until they have settled on a comfortable bench overlooking Westminster Square down below. They are the only two people in the waiting room, which is not surprising. Hermione huffs out a breath with effort when they sit and Harry almost wants to laugh.

"I'm afraid you're going to pop every time you sit down, 'Mione," he jokes as much as he can, fidgeting with the corner of the top envelope in the stack on his lap.

"You and everyone else," Hermione gently and instinctively pries the envelopes out of Harry's grasp and straightens the corner of the curled parchment before tucking them in her oversized purse.

He lets her because he knows she has been mothering him and all of their friends for the past six months and she will feel a little more settled, a little more in control of the situation if she's taking care of her friend.

"I'm waiting for Ron to start following me around with a bucket, quite honestly, every time I walk around." Hermione rolls her eyes and a giggle escapes. "I overheard him asking Fleur on Christmas if it was possible the baby could just fall out one day."

Harry laughs and it feels foreign in his mouth, like he hasn't laughed in years. Trust his two best friends to lighten up a certainly depressing and monumental day.

They lapse back into silence again and Hermione's smile fades before Harry speaks again.

"I don't miss it," Harry eventually says. "I thought I might but..." he trails off.

"It wasn't for you." Hermione finishes quietly.

"No." Harry says firmly. It's the truth.

Since November of last year, Harry has been hesitant to unravel the reasons he left the department, glossing over superficial reasons for his best friends who had looked at him with concern and furrowed brows and handled him like a fragile ornament ever since.

He sighs audibly. "I know I never really gave you or Ron an answer, 'Mione."

"That's okay, Harry," Hermione tries brightly but he doesn't miss the strain in her voice or the overly dismissive _I don't mind not knowing my best friend anymore_ tone.

"No. It's not. I owed both of you a proper response. More than 'it wasn't right'." Harry insists. "I became an Auror because I didn't know what else there was for me to do and it was a safe and familiar decision. I was terrified. Terrified of something different because what if it turned out that all I was good at was fighting Dark magic?"

Lightening crackles above their heads and Harry absorbs himself in tracing the lines of the silvery thunderclouds outside.

"I thought leaving would make it better."

The truth is that since departing from his job and his family of Aurors, Harry has felt even more like a reluctant boat tugged out into a great sea, waves moving him along with no discernable destination and with complete disregard. He thought that by leaving, he would be taking back control of his life but in the stillness and lack of direction, his fears intensified and twisted.

His greatest fear now, Harry thinks while staring at the wild rain, is eventually becoming indifferent to the world around him.

He's near the point and he hates himself for feeling his way, for not feeling strong enough for Teddy and for his friends.

"And now what if - what if I'm really this totally useless _sod_ who now has just agreed to-" His voice cracks and breath hitches and he stops abruptly.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione's face crumples for the first time since meeting Harry at the office in the darkness. She hugs him as fiercely as she can from beside him, arms tightly around his waist and he exhales heavily, sadness and relief and something else blossoming in his throat. He hugs her back, one arm around her slim shoulders and breathing in the familiar scent of parchment and cinnamon in her overwhelming curls.

"You're not useless." She sniffs into his shoulder. "You're brave and brilliant and I don't just mean as an Auror." She draws back and wipes at her wet eyes.

Hermione reaches up to take Harry's face in her small hands and he hasn't realized the wetness of his own cheeks until she drags her fingertips under his eyes. "You are a brave and brilliant man, Harry James Potter, at everything you do. You are going to be an amazing guardian for Teddy."

"What about-"

"You are _not_ replacing Remus or Tonks or Andromeda."

"I'm terrified." Harry whispers to the window.

"Of course you are. It's terrifying becoming a parent. Look at Ron and his bucket!"

Harry lets out a sound that is half laugh, half sob.

"I mean it though. You are going to give Teddy everything he needs and could want for. Andromeda saw you as the best person to shoulder a massive responsibility because she knows you can and have before." Hermione pauses and pushes her curls off her face.

"And I know that if anyone can understand what Teddy is going through, you do."

Harry turns to take in his friend's earnest expression, amber eyes bright and he feels an overwhelming rush of love and affection for her friendship and for leaping out of bed six months pregnant when Harry had flooed both her and Ron in the middle of the night.

"What if I do something wrong or mess him up?"

"You will absolutely not. And you're not doing this alone, remember?" Hermione pinches Harry on the arm and smiles. "You've got me and Ron and all of the Weasleys. Molly, of course, who I'm certain is back at the Burrow already building Teddy a bedroom and shunting poor Arthur off to the garage."

Harry snorts. "I'll need to find a place eventually. Not that I haven't enjoyed living with them for so long. But I can't exactly-" Harry ponders his choice of his words, all of them tasting somehow wrong and right at the same time, " _raise a child_ in someone else's home."

"It's your home too. And you know you can always stay with Ron and I for as long as you'd like."

"I know. But you're getting ready to start a family of your own and...and...good grief _I don't even know what they like_ , _children_." he says suddenly, panicking at the thought of not being able to feed or care for Teddy in the slightest.

"You do, Harry." Hermione insists firmly, tucking her arm through his and leaning her head on his shoulder. "Teddy is your godson and you are already great with him."

"What about the Malfoys? They're technically Teddy's family too."

"Mr. Potter and Mrs. Weasley?" A female voice calls from the doorway behind Harry and Hermione and they both whip around.

A dark-haired, thin-lipped woman is standing in the archway leading back out into the main corridors. She looks as tired as Harry feels to his very bones.

Before he can register a response, Teddy is rushing between her legs and Harry is halfway up from the bench when the child flings himself into Harry's own legs. Snuffling breath bubbling up and choked out words and a running nose pressed firmly into the wizard's shoulder, Harry crouches and pulls Teddy into a tight, protective hug, attempting to pour every ounce of reassurance he has left into the little boy.

"I'm here, Teddy," he can hear the catch his own voice and the quaking little boy pulls closer. Behind him he can hear the exchanges between Hermione and the woman he assumes to be a social worker.

Hermione's hand is at his back.

"We can take him home, Harry."

"Are you ready to go home, Teddy?" Harry squeezes his godson and when Teddy unpeels himself from Harry's shoulder, the pair of eyes searching his roll into a vivid green as striking and familiar as Harry's own. Unprompted, they begin to brim with tears again and Harry folds the boy into the hollow of his collarbone, mouths a thank you to the woman and follows Hermione out of the Ministry, absorbing the hiccups and breathy puffs against his neck.

"It's alright." Harry murmurs with more confidence than he feels. "It's okay. I've got you. We've got this."

* * *

TBC. Review if you'd like! Helps me know someone somewhere is reading this!


	2. Like a Ship Into a Storm

So sorry this has taken me much longer than intended to get this up. The holidays, a daughter with a very demanding cold and keeping up with building a house have consumed pretty much all my time but here is the second chapter finally! Thank you so much for those who have been reading this, favorited, followed and taken the time to review in particular. I'm hoping to have the third chapter up soon! If you're so inclined, please let me know your thoughts on this in a review. And don't worry, Draco is making a surprising appearance very soon!

Per xo

* * *

Harry cradles Teddy close to his chest as both he and Hermione prepare to Apparate back to the Burrow, standing together under the awning of a restaurant front. The storm has dribbled off, leaving the New Year sky white and thick like milk.

"I think he's finally asleep," Harry says cautiously for the third time.

He cranes his neck down and around at his godson in his arms.

"You're going to get stuck in that position if you do that again." Hermione murmurs tucking her arm through Harry's own and drawing them flush together. "Ready?"

"Ready," Harry says, before being pulled into the coil of Apparition.

Frost blankets the fields around the Burrow, stalks of wheat bending under the weight of their silvery heads. Ahead of Harry, the windows of the family house glow amber, smoke swelling from the chimney as always. He can make out the winking fairy lights strung along the rain gutters that, just yesterday, just seemed festive and fun.

"It's different." He says without thinking.

Hermione stops beside him. They stand together in silence, watching the smoke curl away into the wind. "I suppose it is," she says after a long time. "Maybe it was naive of us to believe coming home would feel the same."

"Come here, you're cold." Harry says gently when he notices his best friend's shoulders up around her ears. "You should go inside. It's not good for the baby."

"Now don't go sounding like my husband." Hermione stands on her toes to kiss his cheek and stroke a hand through Teddy's hair. "I'll be in my metaphorical incubator when you're ready. Don't stay too long out here, will you? It's not good for the baby." She says softly, eyes pointedly on Teddy.

Harry nods.

When he and Teddy are alone, he exhales roughly as he stares at the house belonging to the only family he has known. The cheery Christmas decorations and wellington boots and brooms strewn out over the flagstone pathway fall short of comfort. A tight longing feels like it draws its fingers around his chest and pulls, as he realizes, both slowly and all at once, that the homesickness alive within him isn't for the Burrow anymore.

It's a home to which he can never return. Neither he nor Teddy will be returning home in a sense. The realization that Harry must make way for a new normal is unforgivingly sharp.

"Are you going to leave to be with Mummy and Daddy and Granny?" The question is soft and muffled against Harry's coat.

A fresh wave of grief falls over the wizard, rising in his throat and threatening to spill out in tears.

Instead, Harry draws his godson's face up from his zipper and looks straight into hazel eyes that change to the same green they had in the Ministry.

"No, Teddy, I'm not leaving you."

They look at one another for a long moment.

Harry has done this before, when he looks in the mirror for long enough that the sharp angles of his face, the almost imperceptible unevenness of his cupid's bow, the natural outward slope of his green eyes, all begin to seem unfamiliar. As if he's looking at himself through the gaze of a stranger.

It's different this time though, looking down at a child.

Teddy continues to search Harry's face and he sees Remus there in his godson's features, just out of reach. There's curiosity in the wide-set eyes, and kindness in the soft curves of his cheeks that Harry recognizes instantly. Tonks is there too, tucked among stands of ruffled copper hair and in the smart red mouth. Harry accepts that the elegance of a distant Black family bloodline is in the porcelain pale skin and in the slight point of Teddy's chin.

Harry can feel the chalky tears wet under his eyes as he remains fixed on his godson but the guilt and the worry have been dampened by the overwhelming gratitude that floods Harry, thrumming under his skin and in his veins for this little boy.

He tucks Teddy's head under his chin and strokes his fingers through his soft hair. "I'm not going anywhere, Teddy. I promise you. We're going to live here with Granny and Grandpapa Weasley for a little while and then you and I are going to live together, like a proper family. That sound okay with you?"

Harry chooses his words carefully, hoping to emulate the same confidence and protecting nature that Sirius had instilled in Harry during his third year at Hogwarts.

Teddy nods and wipes his running nose and then lays his head back down against Harry's shoulder.

Harry hesitates before whispering, lips close against the crown of the boy's head. "And I've told my mum and dad to look after your mum and dad and granny. So they're all together."

There's no answer but small arms tighten around his neck and Harry marches through the silvery fields up to the house.

* * *

"Hello?" Harry calls to an empty kitchen. "We're home."

He sets Teddy down and hangs their jackets, scarves, and mittens on the overcrowded coat stand by the backdoor. Beside the large picture window over the farmhouse sink, the Aga is warm and inviting. Harry can smell rosemary and the saltiness of roast potatoes that must be a waiting lunch.

"Looks like it's just us. They must be at Andromeda's still." Hermione says, carefully stepping down the staircase with a knitted blanket and a book.

"I thought he might like a story and a good sleep after everything while we wait," she says at Harry's questioning glance. "It was my favorite as a child." She shows him the book cover. "Ron's been reading this to the baby."

Harry crouches in front of Teddy who remains in the doorway, an unhappy and small shadow. "How does a story sound while we wait for Granny and Grandpapa to get home, Teddy?"

The boy ties his hands together, mouth twisting in opposite directions. "What's the story about?" He asks after a moment.

"Well," Hermione crouches as well as she can and hands Teddy the book. "It's about a little owl learning to fly. Would you like to learn how to fly like an owl?"

"I like owls." Teddy looks between both adults, uncertain. "And I would like to fly."

"I like owls too," Harry agrees and Hermione holds out her hand. "Come on."

"Can we have hot chocolate too?" Teddy takes Hermione's hand.

"I think that's a brilliant idea."

Harry makes the hot chocolate and turns down the burner on lunch, while Hermione and Teddy wrap themselves in the blanket on the worn couch by the fireplace and begin the story. He stirs the milk slowly as he listens to Hermione turn pages and describes Oliver the owl's brown feathers and patiently answers Teddy's increasingly happy-sounding questions about animals.

When Harry joins them, he hands out three mugs and smiles at the way Teddy enthusiastically leans over Hermione's lap to look at the pictures in the book. "Two hands, Teddy."

He looks up to give Harry a tentative smile; the first of the day and something Harry had presumed might never reappear.

"Keep going, Aunt Hermione." Teddy pushes, carefully wrapping his small fingers around the mug Harry has charmed to room temperature. "Ollie's going to fly. I know it."

It is going to be a long while before the Weasleys return from Andromeda's house and Harry is content to let Hermione and Teddy continue to read through Hermione's favorite books, letting his head drop against the back of the couch. Hermione's voice is soft and soothing and he thinks he will just close his eyes for a moment, letting the first moment of peace and normalcy wash over him.

He's as close to home as he is going to get.

And that's okay for right now.

* * *

"Harry? Harry, it's time to wake up."

When Harry opens his eyes, the sky beyond the picture window is rose pink and blurry. He's no longer wearing his glasses but can just make out the traces of the morning's storm that have been bunted out by the encroaching darkness of evening. It looks peaceful, Harry thinks.

"You slept through the day," Ginny murmurs, her long fingers against Harry's temple. She's sitting in a corduroy armchair pulled beside the couch, legs folded under her and a well-thumbed copy of _Witch Weekly_ on her lap. Hermione and Teddy are no longer on the couch.

"Hey, stranger," Harry says drowsily, smiling up at the woman he hasn't seen in months. He pats around for his glasses before finding them the arm of the couch. "Been a while, hasn't it?"

Ginny laughs softly but even in his exhaustion Harry doesn't miss the sadness underneath. "I came as soon as I heard. Portkey. The team is still in Germany."

"Do they, uh-"

"No, don't worry. I didn't tell them yet, I wanted to see you as soon as possible."

Harry settles up against the pillows. "Can't believe you just left in the middle of the most important tour of the season."

"The Harpies will be fine. I wasn't sure if _you_ would be. Mum and Dad didn't want to wake you when they got home but I said, shove it."

"Ginny." Harry says, meeting Ginny's gaze. Her normally bright eyes are dark with anxiety, and Harry feels the familiar fondness he has always had for her.

They made a rather terrible couple, it turned out, but there's still love there and an intimacy that will always exist between two people who had crossed the threshold from friends to lovers for their first time.

"Oh, Harry." Ginny's usual confidence breaks and she throws her arms around Harry, pulling close.

"Ginny," he whispers, closing a hand the back of her neck and cradling her against him. "Ginny, it will be alright."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I've been gone so often. Sorry I haven't seen you in months." She says against his neck.

"I promise you, it's okay, Gin. I never held it against you."

"How are you feeling?"

Harry pauses and nudges his nose against her temple. "Dunno. I was terrified this morning. And then I felt a bit better later on. And now I don't know. Ask me again tomorrow."

He holds her for a while until she reluctantly pulls away. "You're going to be Teddy's guardian now."

"I am."

"Would it-" Ginny glances downward, curling her bare toes into the cushion of the armchair. Her fingers are knotted together. "You know. We. I-if you wanted to give us another go...I would never want you to do this by yourself."

"Gin, I would never ask that of you." Harry sighs. "Besides," he looks at her until she meets his eyes and he shoots her a wry smile. "I don't think Teddy would appreciate parents who set one another on fire."

"That was one time! By accident!" Ginny shoots up from her position, indignant and arms crossed against her chest. It takes her a moment of looking down at Harry's pointed expression before she lowers her shoulders. "Harry James Potter we cannot joke about fire. Besides, it was _your_ idea to experiment a little in the bedroom." She hisses, without any real feeling behind it and flushing prettily pink.

"What is everyone shouting about down here? Ginevra, we have little people sleeping upstairs." George slumps into the sitting room, hair a mess and face drawn. "And I could have gone my entire life without hearing about my sister's pyromaniac inclinations in the bedroom."

"Shut up, George." Ginny sits back down in her armchair. "Come give Harry a hug."

"Hug." George says to Harry, flopping down on top of Ginny and deliberately going limp. "Merlin, _what_ a lumpy armchair we have here." He wiggles his backside against his sister.

Harry grins and sits up, stretching. It almost feels like normal, watching the most treasured people in his life attempt to cheer him up. And he appreciates their refusal to handle him like a china doll that may break at any moment.

"Get off me, you big ginger _cow_." Ginny says crossly from beneath her brother.

Harry lets them to it and steps back into the kitchen, enjoying the warming charms set on the stone floor.

Like he knew she would be, Molly is at the Aga, back turned, determinedly stirring a soup on the burner.

Harry aimlessly wonders if he will ever find a house as welcoming and comforting as the Burrow and if Teddy will ever feel the same way coming home to him as he does with the Molly and Arthur. Harry's about to entertain this thought aloud when Molly's voice interrupts him.

"I don't imagine you slept very well, dear." Her back is still turned. She whips her wand at a cupboard and a large mug careens out, is automatically filled from the kettle and then is sent flying to the table.

"Not with those two. Is it really almost dinnertime?" Harry takes a seat in front of the steaming tea. Hermione's thick diary is open on the kitchen table and he pulls it forward. He's not surprised to see a full page of her notes under January 1st, his name apparent in most of the tasks to accomplish.

"Best not to look at that right now, dear," Molly's gentle voice brings him from his hard stare at the diary. He glances up and something breaks in him at the sight of her hovering over him, face creased in concern and lips a flat line.

"I'm so glad you're here," he says at once and he rises from the chair to hug the woman who has been as close to a mother as he has ever had.

"Oh, Harry, dear, you'll be all right," comes her hushed and wobbly response. He can feel her sniff hard against his chest, the quivering inhale of someone who is about to cry.

They break apart and Molly nods at him. "You're going to be just fine, Harry Potter. You always have been, every one of my sons."

"I don't feel like it," Harry sinks back down into the chair and cups the piping hot mug of tea in his hands. "I don't know how to be a parent like you and Arthur."

"And you think we knew it all when we had Bill?" Molly shakes her head and her smile turns up the corners of Harry's own mouth. "We were so young, figuring it out as we went along. Mind you, the war was beginning so it was a lot less peaceful than it is now-" she breaks off and cups Harry's cheek from across the table.

"You will figure it out, Harry. You will find a home to raise Teddy in and you will find what works for both of you and what doesn't. It will take time for both of you to adjust, I am sure of that, but you've got a good head on your shoulders. Always have."

Harry exhales unevenly and because he'd rather not cry again, he takes a large sip of the hot tea and accepts the burn at the back of his throat. "I just want to make sure Teddy has the childhood and upbringing he deserves. Like you did for me."

"Why are you so determined to put everyone ahead of yourself?"

Harry opens his mouth and closes it again. He doesn't have an answer.

"It's very noble what you are doing. But it seems to me that you need reminding every once in a while that you can come first too. Your happiness matters just as much as Teddy's."

"Blimey, Mum, I wish you'd say things like that to us. Harry turns to see Ron stomp into the kitchen. "Is supper almost up? I could smell it upstairs."

"When you become a parent, Ronald Weasley, I will say things like that." Molly says sternly, but there's a half-smile on her face as she turns back toward her pan on the Aga.

Ron doesn't say anything directly to Harry but when his friend passes by his chair, he squeezes his shoulder, hand large and reassuring. He looks as tired as the rest of the Weasley family does but gives his mother a brief hug against his side and sticks a finger in the soup to taste.

"Bacon and leek. Excellent."

"Hands out, Ronald." Molly bats at him with her oven mitts. "Go sit with Harry."

Ron slides in next to Harry and settles a hand on the back of Harry's chair. "You know you're going to have to teach me how to be a cool dad like you."

Harry snorts.

"And you know...you know you've got me, don't you?" He looks seriously at Harry and Harry nods back. "Mione's about to have the most massive baby in the whole of the Wizarding World and I've got paternity leave so, you know, I'm going to be around for a while. I can help. We can do dad things together."

"Dad things together. That sounds like a plan, Ron. Thanks."

"You better not have been talking about _this_ massive baby, Ronald." Hermione says crossly, also coming down the stairs and carrying Teddy against her hip.

He's dressed in white pajamas with strawberries embroidered all over them and it occurs to him that he's missed most of the day, Andomeda's house and St. Mungo's and and his family bringing all of Teddy's belongings from his grandmother's house.

His godson reaches for Harry and Hermione immediately hands him over when they reach the table.

Teddy is quiet and immediately fists his small hands in Harry's shirt. He makes himself comfortable in his lap, head against chest. Harry touches a finger to the boy's tiny gingham slippers. "Did Ollie the owl finally fly? Sorry I fell asleep and missed that bit."

Teddy nods against his chest. "He went really far."

"Are you feeling better?"

Green eyes look upward and examine Harry closely for several moments until they flick around the room to Ginny and George coming in through the living room and to Molly who has turned at the question.

"I want Granny," he says quietly, avoiding Harry's eyes.

Guilt rushes back up through Harry's chest. "I know. I do too. We all want her back." He tries desperately.

"Teddy, are you hungry?" Molly asks softly, soothing.

Teddy nods.

"I'll take him," Ginny offers, summoning a bowl from a cupboard and going over to the Aga to fill it with soup. "Teddy, shall we read another story? I've got a pretty good one about rabbits."

"Okay." Teddy chews his lip and then slides off Harry's lap to take Ginny's hand and they retreat into the living room.

Ginny turns at the last second under the archway that divides the kitchen from the rest of the house. The wandless silencing charm shimmers briefly and then settles.

Harry lets out a breath. 'Where is everyone else?"

"Upstairs. _Supper you lot_!" Molly calls up the staircase.

* * *

It turns out that almost every single Weasley has turned up for Harry and Teddy, and their support and unwavering love briefly smooth over the cracks that had begun to turn up around him. Hermione opens her diary to her lists and Fleur and Gabrielle envelop Harry in hugs so fierce he's afraid he may never breathe again. Bill and Charlie offer to watch Teddy whenever Harry needs the time off. Even Percy gives Harry an awkward but sincere grasp to his arm, insisting he can take over the funeral arrangements, and Harry is very grateful for that particular offer.

"Harry, a moment?" Arthur is at Harry's elbow after supper, bowls scraped clean of Molly's soup, and Harry nods.

They step outside and Arthur casts a powerful warming charm around them.

"I wanted to give you these." Arthur pulls out the stack of envelopes Beatrix had given Harry that morning. "Hermione had them in her bag, but I thought they might be important to open now."

"I had completely forgotten about them. Thanks."

Harry runs a finger along the velvet ribbon securing the parchment together, considering the contents.

"Andromeda knew this would happen." He says eventually, meeting Arthur's intent gaze.

"Yes. I suppose she did. And she planned accordingly to ensure Teddy's well-being." Arthur sounds wistful, as if he could have single-handedly prevented this. All of this.

"Do you know what these say?"

"No, though I ought to have an idea. I considered something similar if I didn't make it out of the war. I wanted my family to know how much I loved them." Arthur's blue eyes are dark in the shadows but they convey the simple acknowledgement that Harry has always been included in the Weasley family.

Harry lets out a shaky breath, frowns and then unties the ribbon, flipping over the envelopes. They are all addressed. Harry smoothes the pad of his thumb over the words, ink crisp and blue.

 _For Edward on his 11th birthday_.

 _For Edward before his graduation._

 _For Edward on his wedding day._

And the last one, thicker than the rest. _For Harry, for always._

Harry wordlessly hands Arthur the envelopes intended for Teddy and rips open the one addressed to him. His hands are shaking again just as they had before signing Teddy's guardian paperwork.

 _Harry, I'm so sorry-_

Harry immediately screws up the top sheet of parchment and stuffs it in his pocket. He doesn't look at Arthur but feels the hot flush up his neck and his chest feels tight and airless.

"I don't want to read this right now." He says to his shoes, holding onto the second piece of the letter.

He hadn't anticipated the sour rise of anger this time. _Yes_ , after Sirius' death but not at Andromeda, not at the clear planning of all of this. Nevertheless, it's there, potent and pulsing beneath his skin. He feels, not for the first time in his life and quite irrationally he thinks, like a prized racehorse. Dumbledore, at his worst, had treated Harry like a thoroughbred training for the inner circle. Higher powers, beyond his control, all planning out his life and future for him without any regard for what he envisioned for himself.

The second sheet of parchment rumples under his grip and Harry draws his eyes over it under the backdoor lamp.

"This is a house deed." He says after a moment. He meets Arthur's frown. "Andromeda's given me a house."

* * *

It's past midnight when Harry finally and sluggishly crawls into bed in Fred and George's old room, feeling boneless. Thoughts and images with no real connection to one another flutter about his head and he knows if he considers them too much, he's going to fall right back into the same petrified state he has been slipping in and out of all day.

Now, finally alone, he's confronted by what has actually occurred.

It isn't as though he never considered having children. It's more so that he finds himself caught between wanting to throw himself into fatherhood as much as Sirius had intended to with Harry, and fearing that if he does, Teddy might perceive it as overstepping his boundaries.

"Fuck." Harry whispers out loud in the dark room before exhaustion claims him.

He wakes feeling foggy and flannel-mouthed from a fitful sleep and it's a clear moment before the previous day's events to settle heavily in his head and pin him to the bedclothes. He scrubs a hand over his face, feeling the roughness of his palm and the small patch of stubble under his jaw that never quite smoothes out no matter how many times he takes a razor to it.

Harry is uncertain of how early it is but when the black sky begins to turn the grey of a wintery dawn, he propels himself out of the bedroom and creeps quietly across the hallway into Ginny's room where Teddy is fast asleep. He is a small shape tucked in under a duvet, with wet eyelashes.

The knowledge of Teddy crying himself to sleep, the familiarity of how many times Harry had done that with the Dursleys, it makes Harry's heart ache so badly it almost brings him to his knees and he has to take a deep, shaky breath to keep from sinking downward.

Harry sits, shadow-like, on the end of the single bed and watches the tiny rise and fall under the covers.

"I'm sorry if I'm crap at this," he says quietly. "I'm really going to try my best. I promise. I know how it feels to be completely alone, Teddy. But I'll be here, we all will, and we all love you very much."

He's in way over his head, with a child and now a house he has never heard of in his name. But he presses a determined kiss to Teddy's forehead, strokes back his godson's tangled hair and then steps quietly down into the kitchen to begin another day, a new normal.

* * *

Reviews are very much appreciated! Thank you for reading! Will be getting to Chapter 3 right away. x


	3. Stay Close and Hold Steady

_"If your world falls apart, I'd start a riot."_

Let me just start off by saying I have treasured everyone's sweet words on this story so far, I know I mentioned this in my first chapter introduction but last year was a turbulent year for me and it's felt great to channel those feelings into something other people can relate to and read. That being said, I was REALLY excited to get this chapter written, edited and up. This is really where Harry and Draco's intersection begins and I hope you like reading it as much as I loved writing it. This is LONG, as a warning, but you've also got Chapter 4 coming too!

As a note, I've amassed quite the playlist as inspiration for this story, as it moves through emotions and _Our Corner of the Universe_ by K.S. Rhoads, along with _To Build a Home_ by Cinematic Orchestra, was actually a starting off point for me, what initially was the original title for this story. I'd recommend giving both songs a listen as they sort of set the tone for how our characters begin - quietly and without any fanfare, like the music. But as the song grows sweeter and a little stronger, so does Harry, as do Teddy and Draco. Sorry this has taken forever to get up - it took a very long time to write somehow. Enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!

* * *

The New Year vanishes rapidly into the narrow end of January and the winter air curls away into the countryside, biting without the warming glow of Christmastime cheer. The holiday decorations are stored away, the funeral is a small but tasteful affair with no sight of the Malfoy family and Harry finds himself existing in an odd, detached momentum that carries him through the days, as though a thick film has wrapped itself around him.

He is there one day and slightly less vibrant the next, mind elsewhere and coasting along an invisible line he can't seem to grasp hold of.

An icy rain sweeps in through the open mullioned window on the morning of Andromeda's funeral. Water pools on the wooden windowsill and spatters over Harry's dress robes.

He is seated in the window tower of Andromeda's empty manor where he can lean his forehead against the cool glass of a windowpane, undisturbed, while furniture is packed away, shrunken down, and George plants a SOLD sign in the front garden.

A small hand folds into his outstretched palm on the sill and he starts, blinks, drawn away from his thoughts.

"Do we have to go down there?" The voice is hesitant and whisper-quiet.

Harry squeezes Teddy's hand, hoists him into his lap up on the windowsill, and absorbs the hot breathy inhales from his godson.

"We do," Harry sighs after a long stretch of silence.

There isn't really much else he can say.

* * *

Following the funeral, he struggles through settling Teddy into a constructive routine, plays both supportive father and nurturing mother, drinks more coffee than is advisable and is intent on staying awake through the nights to ingest all of Hermione and Ron's books on childcare.

Throughout Harry's best attempts, however, there are days where Teddy refuses to allow Harry out of his sight, and there are moments when Harry doesn't have the heart to fight it, to discipline this little someone who now depends on him for everything.

"You're okay, Teddy," Harry whispers over and over one January night when the sky is starless and the silvery fields beyond the picture window disappear into encroaching darkness.

Not even a lamppost can be seen.

It's close to midnight and he and Teddy are alone in the kitchen, Harry gently turning in circles on the flagstone floor as he holds his godson who has woken in the night again.

Harry has lost count of how many times he feels like a failure or has told Teddy he will be okay.

"Granny isn't here anymore."

This isn't new news by now, the coming and going of the recognition of death.

"No, I'm sorry. But she's up there safe and sound like your mummy and daddy and my mum and dad."

"In heaven?" Teddy twists in Harry's arms. The green eyes are hopeful.

Harry isn't certain he believes in heaven or hell. But he does believe in the special pockets of magic that have erupted throughout his life, allowed him glimpses at his parents, at those closest to him who have passed.

 _Priori Incantatem_ flashes in his mind.

"To a special place where they are all together and very happy."

"Can we see them?"

Harry swallows. It burns. "Well. It's more like they can visit us. We can talk to them and see them."

"Where?" Teddy asks, desperation tight in his voice.

"I've got a whole photo album that we can look at and see everyone waving back."

"Can we look now?"

He weighs the hour of the night in his mind, but then Harry installs Teddy in a kitchen chair and trails up the stairs to where he has packed away the albums in his trunk. While he digs, he pointedly refuses to unearth Andromeda's letters from their position under unworn dress robes.

Despite Arthur's seemingly endless prompts, Harry has mostly avoided any confrontation on the grounds that he'd rather not puncture Teddy's life any further and by his own wish to not hear any of Andromeda's excuses.

Harry still feels the sharp, uncontrollable anger, if he gives it too much thought. It feels like betrayal somehow, even though his more logical half knows that is partly insane.

But he buries it. Because he has to.

Teddy holds onto the worn leather corners of the album and makes small sounds of surprise as the pages turn themselves. He waves vigorously at photos of his smiling parents and strokes a small hand over pictures of James and Lily too, tracing Harry's mother's vibrant red hair that swishes in a gust of wind like scarlet silk.

Teddy turns pages over and over and asks Harry to start again when they have finished.

Harry rests his chin on Teddy's head and does his best to animate each photo with stories of when it was taken, share each thought he has when towing a thumb along a photo of Sirius, whose handsome and young face tilts and winks on repeat. There are pictures of Andromeda and Ted Tonks too on the very last page of the album. There is a photo missing from the page, but most of the photos are of them standing bright eyed against a red brick background. Fresh green foliage peeks from the corner of one of the photos and every few seconds, a very young Ted turns his head to gaze down at his wife.

Harry reluctantly smiles at the second to last photo of the two of them standing by a topiary. It must be summertime by the way golden light streams in and out of the windows behind the two of them.

Teddy's eyes begin to close on the fourth circuit of albums and Harry finds himself drifting too when the sun rises over the fields and smudges the sky with crimson and orange bands.

Within minutes, his godson is asleep again.

* * *

February arrives with fresh snow and crisp slate skies bruised by silver clouds.

It is a Saturday when Harry's eyes snap open at the sound of muffled voices downstairs at the Burrow.

Somehow, amidst his chaos, he has slept more than four hours at a time.

His first thought upon waking, judging by the pressing darkness in front of him, is that he's gone blind.

His second thought is that, all things given this year so far, he's not as horrified by it as he would have previously assumed.

 _Blind and single_ _dad_ , he accepts in his head. _Brilliant_.

A moment later Harry realizes his newfound blindness smells like paper and he sits up. His copies of _Single Parenting_ _for the Hip Father_ and _Cooking for Baby_ slide down his chest, just missing Teddy's outstretched hand over one of the photo albums on his lap.

Weak light streams in through the open blinds of Fred and George's bedroom, casting cool grey ribbons of sunlight onto the carpet and bedclothes.

Harry closes the books and sets them quietly on the bedside table, taking care not to wake his godson. It's early and, as Harry had quickly discovered, a four year old without adequate sleep is not a pleasant experience to handle the following day.

He takes a moment to glance around the bedroom, take in the piles of clothes on the chair and spare bed that he has managed to curate - the folded children's clothes still strike him as out of place and misplaced - and he lets out a heavy sigh.

Hermione and Ron's books butt up against paper cups of coffee on the bureau, unopened letters and gifts from Neville and Hannah, Luna and McGonagall are piled on top of the trunk, along with all of Teddy's belongings. Shrunken down pieces from Andromeda's house are stacked like doll's toys along one wall, blocking out a window full of light.

Abruptly Harry feels sick, sick of what he is looking at. He feels the hot white anger again that he has let himself get to this place, packing two lives into a single room and wallowing for six weeks without any sense of where to go. This film, this gloss, he's carried around with him, feels morbidly familiar, the same pressing anxiety he had felt after losing his godfather.

 _I'm supposed to be setting an example,_ he thinks furiously, dragging a hand tiredly over his face. An image of he and Teddy living in the same room ten years on flits through his mind and that's it.

"That's it," he repeats out loud to the room. "No time like right now."

Ungluing himself from under Teddy's grasp on his pajamas, he levers himself out of the bed and crouches in front of the trunk. He places the gifts and letters on the carpet and unlatches the locks. The scent of grass and upturned earth from the Quidditch pitch is still wonderfully fresh when Harry opens the lid. He moves unopened inkpots and digs through pressed uniforms until his fingers close around crisp parchment.

With his back against the trunk, Harry unfurls Andromeda's screwed up letter, inhaling deeply.

 _For Harry, for always._

 _Harry, I'm so sorry it has to be this way, that you have to come into this life suddenly and without warning._

 _Darling, I hope you will forgive me for my sickness._

 _After losing my Ted, my Dora and Remus, I felt desperate to keep them close despite my knowledge that I would only grow sicker as this curse from the war wore on. I naively believed I could prevent my grandson from growing up as lonely as I know you felt as a child if I raised him. Though now I know I only have limited days, I'm afraid I may have done irreparable damage._

 _I am sorry for my selfishness, but I hope you understand it._

 _Harry James, my wish for you is to flourish in this new life, to blossom as a guardian. I have all the confidence in you that you will give Edward everything he could need as a child and as an adult. I have all the confidence that your love and compassion, your selflessness, will shine through your parenting._

 _Don't doubt yourself._

 _I know it may seem as though you are drifting through a fog right now. While there is no barometer to measure what it means to be a successful mother or father, you should believe that this endless grief shall pass._

 _It will pass the first time Edward smiles again. It will pass the first time you watch the sleepless nights, the frustration, the unwavering determination to succeed at this, finally come to fruition when you witness the kindness in a child, their delight at life._

 _I can think of no better person to raise Edward because no better person understands what it means to feel truly alone and without parents in this world._

 _Please carry this letter with you for the nights when it feels hopeless, and for when you lie in bed, breathless from a night of laughter and love._

 _Then you may realize that I was - am - right that the grief will pass with time._

 _I deeply regret that I was not able to make amends with my sister and her family before this time came. While Narcissa has made errors in her judgment over the past few years, she and Draco are unwavering links to Edward's past, to his heritage._

 _When he is older, he may ask about the rest of his family and my wish is that he is not kept from them. My wish is that you, Harry, can bridge that healing tie._

 _We all survived insurmountable loss during the war. This is a fresh chance to make amends, to put forgiveness first where I believe it is deserved._

 _I recognize that you may recoil on this. But we fought for unity four years ago; let's not waste the opportunity when it comes about._

 _I have kept close watch over my sister and her husband. They have changed, please believe that, and I believe that following the loss of their son from our world, Narcissa and Lucius deserve to have their chance at sharing their unextinguished love with Edward._

 _As for Draco, take trust in me that an owl sent the right way may not come back unanswered, Harry. His choices are not mine to share, though I trust in you to keep trying._

 _Below this letter, I have gifted you my most cherished memory. This house will need love, and I hope you won't give up on it. I trust in you to turn this empty house into a home full of warmth and love and your own memories with Edward._

 _Keep going, darling._

 _You are a remarkable spirit and I am thankful to have you and Edward in my family._

 _All my love,_

 _Andromeda Black_

When he has finished with the letter, Harry scrubs at his wet cheeks that are slick with salty grit. He sets down the letter and his glasses in his lap. His face is hot and flushed and he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, frowning at Andromeda's mention of her sister and nephew.

He gets up from the carpet and then stops, unsure of where he is going.

Downstairs, to tell the others about the letter? No.

He sits back down. Feels as though he is caught underwater, in an undertow, the way his grief and sadness and relief and disbelief fall over him like a cresting wave. He wipes at his tears and lets out the surprisingly bubble of laughter.

It's not cynical laughter this time, though. Not wavering, nor thankless. It is as bright like the sun and hopeful like a breath of air.

It feels, to Harry, like the kind of invigorating laughter he hasn't had with his closest friends in forever.

"Did you have a funny dream, Uncle Harry?"

Harry looks up from his position against the trunk. Teddy is sitting upright in the shadows and rubbing at his puffy eyes.

Harry springs up from the floor and rushes at Teddy, pulling him up under his godson's arms and swinging him through the air before settling him against his hip. Teddy lets out a delighted cheer.

"I've been having a funny sort of dream for a while now," Harry smiles, forcing the corners of his mouth up with more cheer than he feels. "But it's time to wake up now."

"Did we sleep really long?" Teddy scrunches his nose at Harry's words.

Harry hums and smoothes down the boy's hair, which looks as disheveled as his own. "Something like that. Are you ready to get up? What would you like to do?"

He has a faint idea, and he hopes it will be a day where Teddy is more willing to be taken out by someone other than his godfather.

Teddy's little red mouth pulls wide and he beams up at Harry. "Can we go to the zoo?"

* * *

After Teddy is persuaded into a bath and Harry goes through the now familiar routine of charming bubbles into animals, and combing back wet hair, he dresses his godson in as many warm layers as he can manage to shove his little arms and legs into.

"Warm enough?" Harry grins and crouches down in front of Teddy to lace up his own boots by the fireplace.

Teddy flaps his stuffed arms in response and gives Harry a wide, beaming smile. "We're going to the bears!"

"Yes, you are." He levers himself up and turns toward Ron who looks equally thrilled to haven taken the day off work for a trip to the London Zoo. "Thanks for this. Really. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Good luck, mate. " Ron grins and slaps Harry on the back and then lets out a roar and darts for Teddy who shouts gleefully and runs away stiffly in his multiple layers. "Is this little boy ready to be eaten by scary bears?"

"You're not a bear, you can't eat me!" Teddy cries. Ron scoops the boy up and winks at Harry before they swirl away into the green flames of the Floo.

"I can't believe you still have this thing. _This is a death trap, Hermione_. And I'm certainly not letting you and your unborn child get in."

"The house is in a _Muggle neighborhood_ , Harry. It would look quite unusual if we just appeared out of thin air, wouldn't it?"

Harry looks stonily at the beaten up station wagon Hermione has shared with Ron for the better part of four years, though Harry reckons the car is probably older than all three of their ages put together.

He looks back to his friend. Hermione crosses her arms over her belly.

Harry sighs.

He is truly awful behind the wheel and driving only serves to remind him of the driving test he took during Auror training and overhearing Molly's hissed _poor child can't even pay attention to a calendar let alone a steering wheel_ to Arthur.

"Just don't give me that look you're giving me right now when I crash the car and you and your baby have to stay here and haunt my grave. It would be very boring, trust me."

The house, unnamed and vaguely described from the deed, is in a town close to Wiltshire that Harry has never heard of.

"Child-gone." Harry spells out an hour later when they're coasting along a curved country road flanked on either side by a low crumbling wall and the winter-bare frames of blackberry bushes.

He squints at the slanted handwriting on the deed, one hand crumpling the corner of the parchment while the other hangs onto the steering wheel.

He flicks his eyes back to the road. "No wonder Andromeda didn't live there. Who would live in a place with a name like that."

"Give me that. Can't you read?" Hermione says crossly, plucking the sheet from Harry's outstretched hand. "Concentrate on driving. You're terrible with two eyes, let alone one. _Cholderton_. God, Harry, are you wearing your real glasses or the fake ones from George's shop?"

"I resent that."

"You should." Hermione grins in Harry's peripheral vision and he huffs in response.

They lapse into a comfortable silence for the next quarter of an hour. Hermione hums along with the crackling radio and Harry gives a small smile at the rose-pink sky that is beginning to emerge out of the wintery clouds.

The roads are mostly quiet for a weekend and when Harry begins to notice brown signs for Wiltshire, he taps his thumb along the bottom of the steering wheel until Hermione reaches out a gentle hand and closes her fingers over his.

She pulls both their hands onto the curve of her belly. "It's kicking," she says softly.

Harry shivers at the alien feeling rippling under his palm. "I don't think that will ever get old."

"I'm having too many babies if it _does_ get old." Hermione sighs happily, and leans back into her seat.

"Really proud of you, Mione." Harry keeps his left hand clasped hers.

"We are proud of you too. I hope you know that. You've been doing an incredible job with Teddy."

"I'm trying," Harry says quietly as he attempts to smoothly navigate around the snarl of cars exiting off the road. "It doesn't always feel like it's working."

He feels Hermione grasp his hand even tighter.

"I read the letter." Harry throws out when Hermione doesn't respond. "Andromeda was hit by a curse."

Hermione looks sharply to her right. "By _whom_?"

"She didn't say. I can guess though."

Hermione lets out a heavy breath. "Yes. Me too. What else did the letter say?"

"She was sorry. Sorry for the way things had to happen. Sorry for keeping me in the dark."

Hermione is silent again so Harry continues.

"She wants me to make peace with the Malfoys."

 _"What?"_ Hermione demands, unclasping Harry's hand from hers. "You can't surely be thinking about it."

Harry frowns and casts a sidelong glance at his friend's incredulous expression. "She said she regrets not making amends with Narcissa. Also mentioned something strange about Malfoy. Draco."

Harry doesn't miss the something flickering oddly along the side of Hermione's mouth when he glances over at her again. "Hermione, what the hell is it that you're not saying?"

"I'm _not_ saying anything. I'm just surprised. Though I suppose I ought to understand, with Teddy." She pauses and turns her head toward the passenger window. Along both sides of the car, fields stream past them as Harry continues to drive.

"What was strange about Draco?"

"She seemed to think if I sent an owl addressed to him-it sounded like she didn't believe he disappeared."

Hermione's mouth twists and her brows turn downward. "Are you sure she said that?"

"Do you think I'm exaggerating? I haven't thought about that family in four years. And I don't really enjoy the thought of trying to make peace with two members of the family who wanted me dead and the third member who _actually tried_ to ensure my death."

"We've changed, Harry." Hermione makes a sympathetic noise, quiet but it is there. "You changed after the war, we all did. I'm sure Draco- _Malfoy_ -wherever Merlin he is, feels the same."

Harry falls silent. He hasn't given his former classmate and the relation to his godson much thought in the chaos of adjusting to life with Teddy, though Harry isn't naive enough or immature enough anymore for a retort.

They both stay silent and Harry drives on, negotiating turns and roundabouts until they're driving through a small, cobblestoned town. The main street through the shops suddenly gives way to a country lane where the smooth line of bordering oak trees are interrupted by smart driveways every few miles.

Harry opens his mouth again "Maybe I will-"

"We're here!" Hermione cheers, startling Harry out of his own thoughts so much that he almost swerves into a postbox.

"Mione!"

"Sorry, Harry. But we're _here_."

Harry blinks.

They have come to an idle on a narrow, winding lane flanked by sparkling, frosty bramble and holly bushes. Harry peers out of the window to look up at the iron lampposts that are dotted along the curve of the road.

"42 Primrose Place." He says idly. He slowly turns the car into the gravel drive and when they reach a pair of wrought iron gates, he brings the car to a stop and then turns the engine off.

"I can't see it." Hermione squints down the drive; though the same tangled knots of bramble that line the outer lane screen the house from any outside view.

Harry forces the car door open into the raw air that stings and bites at his bare hands and face.

Hermione shivers, wrapping her cashmere scarf around her neck and pulling on her woolen mittens as she struggles against gravity to right herself and her belly on the upturned gravel.

The front gates spiral and arch into themselves and when Harry, gripping Hermione's elbow, strides on down the drive, he can see that the drive forks and then opens up into a sweeping circular front garden.

"It's beautiful." Hermione breathes when they reach the hilt of the gates, breath coming out in white puffs.

Harry hesitates, looping his fingers around one of the spires on the gate.

He waits for the feel of unfamiliarity, perhaps even sadness, to fall over him but it never comes.

Instead, there's a sense of inevitability when he looks over what is clearly an estate.

 _Instead, it feels a lot like he's been waiting to come home._

"Alohomora." The lock releases. The gate drags the gravel back with its hinges, the whine of metal indicating that it has not been opened in some time.

They walk slowly around the curve of the front garden and Harry feels that same glimmer of familiarity as he takes in red brick and a slate roof that is green in spots where age and weather have bonded like a patina on a well-preserved statue.

He has seen this house before. He _knows_ he has, somewhere in the back of his long-buried thoughts.

The house is comfortably large, set far back from the front gates. The bricked exterior is wrapped in ruffled ivy that looks velvety from where Harry stands, thick and luscious in spite of the bitter winter. From his vantage point, he can see a side of the house where wisteria vines, though browned and dry from the cold, twist like braids and bracket two peeling French doors that he supposes lead out into a garden.

White-paned windows puncture the front of the house, interior curtains drawn, but Harry can already tell that in the summer, sunlight will stream into the front rooms and flood the place with warmth and a golden glow.

"Queen Anne architecture. Probably built around the 1700s." Hermione says admiringly.

Harry smiles at her. "How do you know that?"

"Research." She comments absently, tilting her head all the way back to look up at the chimney. "I wonder if it has a ghost. Did you know having a ghost in a traditional English country home is considered a status symbol? Dogs and cats are seen as rather common but something like a White Lady is quite envious."

"Maybe the British aristocracy should visit Hogwarts." Harry mumbles and runs a hand over a shapeless topiary, feeling the snow gather between his fingers.

He leaves Hermione where she is, half-crouched and inspecting a copper pipe by a drain, and strides to the front door.

He wonders aloud if he has any neighbors but smirks when Hermione is too enthralled with her murmuring over the preserved plumbing to respond.

When Harry reaches the front door, it is the same faded emerald as the soft, damp moss that crawls over the front steps. Harry traces his finger over the brass knocker in the shape of a sleeping fox and an involuntary smile curls his mouth up.

"Whose car is this?" Hermione calls.

Harry leans back on his heels from the stone steps. His best friend is peering around where the wisteria climbs and he has to walk around the full drive to see what car she is apparently pointing out.

Indeed, there is a very big and very ancient chalk red Land Rover parked in the shadows of a drooping tree.

"Dunno." He calls back, shrugging. "I never saw Andromeda driving."

He returns to the front door, hand on the bronze fox, when he realizes with a sickening gasp that he doesn't have a key and Andromeda had not included a key in one of her many envelopes.

He glances back toward Hermione but she has walked out of view.

Harry tentatively places his hand on the large doorknob and bites back a gasp when he feels a surge of magic, stronger than _Alohomora_ , encircle his hand and wrist. The seal shimmers in the mid-morning sunlight and then fades. The door creaks open.

"Hermione," he shouts loud enough for her to hear. "The house is magic!"

Harry hears Hermione march as fast as she can back around to the front of the house, her winter boots _thwacking_ against gravel.

"How do you know?" She says breathlessly once she's reached Harry and he shoots his arm around her to steady her.

"There's no key. I just opened it by grabbing hold of the door. Look." He rests his hand on the doorknob and the shimmering light once again curls around his hand.

"This is very old magic," Hermione remarks slowly, a slight frown marring her brow. "It must know Andromeda has given you the house. But it is definitely a Muggle house. How strange."

Harry smiles slowly and then turns to his friend. "After you. Age before beauty."

Hermione whacks him on the arm.

* * *

The interior of the house is rather worn. Wallpaper and shiplap is faded, and a thick layer of dust coats most of the surfaces. As Hermione and Harry survey the rooms of the ground floor, they encounter ancient cardboard boxes crowding most of the drawing room and furniture pieces stacked up on top of one another.

Despite the dilapidation, Hermione vehemently defends each and every room they cross through, pointing out crown molding and granite countertops and dark, hardwood floors.

And after Harry has obediently bent down to examine the skirting at Hermione's instruction, stretched at unnatural angles to peer up the fireplaces in the drawing room, kitchen and vast dining room and almost crashed through the floorboards that reveal a cellar, he finds himself conceding to his friend's description that the house has "charm and character and just needs a bit of love."

"A bit of love. Right." Harry sighs, though he isn't unhappy about it. He has always found it rather soothing to restore something old and loved.

"Harry," Hermione impatiently flaps an arm at him as he dramatically drags his feet along the sisal carpeting the front foyer. "This is _exactly_ what you need right now. You need a project to keep your self occupied and doing up a house like this will be fantastic."

"How do you know what I need," Harry murmurs darkly to the floral wallpaper of the dining room, even though he privately agrees and hides his smile in his coat collar.

"But there's no way I can do all of this by myself. I've got to find a job eventually and find a good school for Teddy and-"

"Well, you can hire an architect." Hermione cuts him off neatly, hands on hips. "There has got to be someone around here who is familiar with restoring old estates like this."

Harry nods as he wanders up the wrought iron spiral staircase that punctuates the smooth flagstone of the foyer. Upstairs, a long and narrow hallway separates empty bedrooms. The master bathroom has silver fixtures and a huge porcelain bathtub with what looks to Harry like lion's paws raising it up off the dark wood floor. An ornate white fireplace is installed to its left. Instinctively, Harry climbs in and settles back against the cool, smooth curve of the bath, closing his eyes for a moment.

He doesn't entirely mind the idea of restoring this house, of throwing himself into a project and building a home for Teddy and himself.

"Harry!"

Harry's eyes snap back open at the sound of Hermione's voice and he vaults out of the bath and sprints down the long hallway toward her voice in one of the bedrooms.

"What is it? Is it the baby?" He pants against the doorframe.

"Don't be silly, Harry." Hermione says sensibly, standing perfectly unharmed and unbothered in the center of bedroom and holding something square and silver. "I was looking through one of the boxes in the closet and look what I found."

She hands him an antique silver frame and Harry feels a swoop of realization in his gut.

The picture in the frame is of Andromeda and Ted, small figures entangled in each other's arms against a same red-bricked house. The picture is very old and worn in spots, as though someone has repeatedly held it in the same position over the years. Behind Andromeda and Ted, the house is vibrant with the summertime sun, rose bushes and driveway pristine. When Harry squints, he can just make out the curled fox on the front door.

"This is why it looked familiar," he whispers, mostly to himself. The similar feeling of being underwater has returned, though this time he feels like he is resurfacing to fresh, crisp breath.

"Why what looked familiar?"

"The house." Harry looks up, alight. "All those photo albums I had of Andromeda's - I _knew_ I had seen this house before, or I suppose parts of it."

Hermione frowns up at him.

"This was Ted Tonks house."

* * *

Let me know what you think - currently working on Chapter 4!

-Peri x


	4. Jump

So. We can all agree on the fact that I'm the WORST because it's been ages since I last updated this story but believe me when I say I have not 1) abandoned this and 2) I was SO excited to finally finish this chapter (6k later!). I do so apologize for the delay - I've been working on my own original work and it was getting a bit difficult to switch back and forth between the two works as I'd often be thinking of Harry when I was writing about fashion, and fashion when I was writing this!

But the good news is I am back and have been spending my days writing this story out in the sunshine in the garden and it has been absolutely wonderful to immerse myself in this world again. As a note, a kind reviewer pointed out that I got Harry's age wrong and I totally did. So let's all pretend I wrote he is 21 and not 23. Thank you!

Hope you enjoy this long chapter, and please leave me a note if you so wish at the end to let me know your thoughts.

* * *

Harry trails impatiently through the following week, feeling as though he is barely skimming the surface of his interactions. With Tuesday arrives more snow. The country fields are once more covered in a silver gloss and early winter snowdrops are beaded white and droop over their stems.

Harry sits at the scrubbed kitchen table after dinner has been cleared and most of the family has dispersed to other areas of the house. Across from him, Hermione quietly flips through an indescribably thick book on English country houses and writes cryptic notes in her diary. Beside Hermione, Teddy colors in a picture of an owl in shades of purple and green.

"What are you going to draw, Uncle Harry?"

Harry glances up from his own piece of parchment on the table. Teddy is holding out an indigo pencil to him and looking curiously at the sheet.

Harry takes the offered pencil and looks down at the parchment again.

 _Malfoy_ is written in the top left corner.

"Not sure yet, Teddy."

He crosses out Malfoy and writes Draco and then crosses out Draco and writes Malfoy again. Then he crumples the entire sheet into his fist and starts again, pushing down his hesitation.

"You should do an owl," Teddy says, now selecting an orange pencil and taking it to the owl's wings.

Harry gnaws on his thumbnail and eyes the crumpled parchment. "I was thinking more like a dragon."

In his peripheral vision, he sees Hermione's head dart up from her book and her eyes narrow toward the ball of parchment.

"I like dragons," Teddy agrees happily.

Later, when Harry has persuaded Teddy into a bath and bed, he sits again at the table and drags a fresh sheet of parchment toward him.

 _Where is your supposed Gryffindor courage_? He chastises himself.

 _Malfoy,_

 _As I am sure you have heard from your parents, Andromeda Tonks passed away in January. She named me as Teddy's guardian and it was her wish that we make amends for the sake of Teddy. I'm not sure where exactly to reach out but Andromeda assured me an owl would find you. Please owl me back._

 _Potter_

 _Harry James Potter_

Harry reads it three times before deciding he's wasting time on diplomacy and ties the letter to the leg of George's barn owl. He watches the large creature soar out of the kitchen window and into the black sky and feels a lurch of nerves.

 _Life After_ , he decides.

* * *

On Thursday, Harry is attempting to master Hermione's extension charm on his trunks to fit all of his and Teddy's belongings when he hears the scrape of a beak against glass.

He turns to see George's owl on the windowsill and is strangely dismayed when he notices that his letter has been opened but comes with no response.

He doesn't know why he expected anything from Malfoy, the bloody blonde coward, or why he feels disappointed.

"Well, thanks for trying, Wendell," he says to the owl and strokes his feathers when he unlatches the window. Wendell nudges his head up under Harry's palm and clicks at him.

"What?"

Wendell repeats his nudging and then hoots loudly. He turns toward the window and then rotates back around to eye Harry sternly.

"I'm not sending another one."

The owl clicks his beak excitedly and hops from one foot to the other on the sill.

"Fine." Harry rolls his eyes. "Bloody bird."

This time he doesn't bother with politeness and cuts straight to the point.

 _Malfoy,_

 _Please respond to my initial owl as soon as you can._

 _Harry Potter_

* * *

On Friday, when the sun is still waking, Harry, along with Teddy, Ron, and Arthur, move all of Harry's shrunken down belongings from the Burrow into number 42 Primrose Place.

"Fantastic town," Arthur comments, rubbing his hands in the cool air and walking around to open the boot of the station wagon. "I'd love to have a look at that hardware shop we passed. Molly should be around soon, might duck out if I get the chance to see those brass things they had in the window."

Harry grins at Arthur and Ron and then sets a sleepy Teddy down on the drive. "Welcome home, Teddy."

Teddy leans against Harry's leg and stares shyly up at the house as though he should introduce himself.

"Hullo," he whispers after a minute.

They walk slowly up the front drive all together and Harry demonstrates the unlocking spell for Ron and Arthur before swinging Teddy back up into his arms and stepping into the foyer.

"It needs work." Harry says, matching Ron and Arthur's motions as they tilt their heads skyward to look at the high ceilings and spiral staircase. With the curtains still drawn in every room, the house remains dark and quiet.

"Hermione had the idea to look for an architect who would be able to restore the whole estate. And I'd like to help as much as I know how while I look for a job."

"Where are you going to go?" Teddy asks, twisting restlessly in Harry's arms and wriggling down onto the floor so he can be free.

"Nowhere for the moment. But I think it'd be good if I got a job maybe. What do you think of that?"

Teddy twists his lips together, and Harry smiles at the earnest and thoughtful expression staring back up at him. "Don't you want to stay with me?"

"Of course I do. You might even be able to come to work with me."

Teddy nods and then folds his hand into Harry's own. "Alright. " He responds simply.

They spend the morning restoring Harry and Teddy's belongings to their regular size and positioning the small pieces of furniture that do belong to Harry around the house. Harry had not realized what little property he actually owned and while he's reluctant to keep the older furniture Andromeda and Ted had kept in the house, it will have to do for now for a place for people to sit or eat.

When Hermione, Ginny and Molly arrive at a more reasonable breakfast hour, they arrive armed with Molly's formidable collection of cleaning supplies.

"This is going to be like cleaning number 12 isn't it?" Ron moans, flopping down on the bottom step of the staircase.

"Hopefully without boggarts." Ginny winks at Harry and swings Teddy by the arms through her legs. "Ready to clean, Teddy?"

Molly hands Ron a spray bottle with clear, lemon-scented liquid with an expression that does not welcome argument. "It won't be like number 12 if we don't dilly-dally and set to work. Come on!"

And so they do. Over the next few hours, Ron and Arthur take to moving all the boxes up into the spare bedroom where Hermione had found the photograph. Harry yanks down and banishes all the weathered curtains and drags open previously sealed windows to let in the cutting, crisp winter air and warming sunlight. Ginny follows at his heels with window cleaner and is positively black with grit and filth by the time they make it through three floors and around the outside of the house.

"I feel like I was just dipped in tar. You better keep these _sparkling_ , Harry. I want the sun to burn a _hole_ into that carpet of yours it's so clear through these windows." Ginny remarks sourly, wiping her grimy hands down the back of Harry's shirt while he has his back to her for a moment.

"Thanks, Gin," Harry smirks, not even minding the two hand prints across his shoulder blades.

Percy arrives sometime around lunch and is strictly business to connect the fireplaces to the Floo Network.

Even Teddy, by his own perception, makes a massive effort at helping the group tidy the house by coloring in the spots of missing wallpaper in the dining room with his pencils until Harry catches him and gently tells him the wallpaper will be going to the tip as well.

"Oh," Teddy says sadly, looking at his creations.

"But you know what will look really good? How about another owl drawing? This one needs a friend I think." Harry taps a finger to the coloring book beside Teddy on the floor.

Teddy smiles brightly at that. An hour later, when Harry has ripped down the flowering, faded wallpaper, he pauses at the large window. Hermione and Teddy sit together at the wrought iron table in the front garden, wrapped up against the cool weather. Teddy's face is tense with concentration as he bends over his coloring book and Hermione is turned toward the house, looking up at the front and making notes in her diary.

Harry gives her a little wave and she motions him outside.

"Another list?" He inquires, stepping through the front door. Someone, probably Molly, has spelled away the moss carpeting the front steps and installed a thick and inviting doormat.

"It's for your own good," Hermione shoots him a wry smile. She shows Harry her pages when he pulls out a cold seat at the table. "I went round the house and wrote down what probably needs replacing, fixing or what looked a bit dodgy in some spots."

 _Ever the anthropologist_ , Harry thinks gratefully.

Hermione's list is vast, and he wonders what he can get in town tomorrow to start on.

"I must be into work tomorrow for something, otherwise I'd love to go to town with you."

"The Ministry needs you, Mione." Harry really doesn't mind. He will have to face this house alone at any time and he tells her so.

"I think it's a lovely house."

"Lovely house," Teddy echoes his aunt absently, coloring diligently.

"Where are we going to put this one then?" Harry points to the almost-finished owl in Teddy's book.

"Can we put it in my bedroom?"

"Of course. Have you chosen a bedroom yet?"

Teddy pauses and looks up in surprise. "I don't know which one to choose."

"Well, that will be our project tonight then, okay?"

As the hours tick on, the scrubbing and cleaning spells slow to a stop and more of the family join Hermione, Teddy and Harry outside to watch the sun setting over the property. Ribbons of light the color of orange blossoms stream out across the drive, giving everyone around the table a distinctly peachy glow. Hermione reignites her warming charm and Molly unpacks a set of mugs, a box of earl grey tea, sugar, a packet of chocolate biscuits and a carton of milk from her bag.

Harry feels the familial glow of everyone around him and adds a mental note to tack on lights for the trees outside when spring arrives.

Eventually, when the biscuit packet has been emptied and everyone has drained their mugs, Harry pushes himself away from the table and lets out a long breath. Despite the lack of lights outside, seeing everyone in the dim shadows happy and bright all together calms him in the chaos of this year.

 _He's fine. He's good_ , he thinks. _Teddy will be absolutely fine._

Teddy looks ready to fall asleep at any minute as he leans heavily against Hermione, eyes closing and coloring book forgotten when Ginny breaks the comfortable silence.

"Are you going to send him to a Wizarding primary school?"

" _Lumos_." Harry flicks his wand. "I hadn't gotten that far, honestly. I thought I'd send him to a school round here."

He looks to Molly and Arthur who both return validating expressions back to him

"I think whatever you decide, Teddy will be happy." Arthur pauses thoughtfully before, "although, I'm not sure what a Muggle teacher might think of Teddy's metamorphic qualities."

A jolt of panic hits Harry as he turns to his godson, whose dark hair and green eyes have stayed so for the entire day.

"Surely there's something - a spell maybe - that halts it at least for a little while." Ginny says.

Harry looks to Hermione who crinkles her nose in response. "I'm actually not sure, Harry. Metamorphmagi's abilities are affected by their emotional state, which is why Teddy is probably having trouble changing back from looking like you. But it's unknown whether a spell could alleviate an emotional state in this very specific situation."

A well of protection surges through Harry at thought of putting any kind of spell on Teddy. "We'll work on it." He says finally.

* * *

After everyone has left for the evening with the insistence of having him and Teddy over for Sunday roast at the Burrow, the true weight of being in his own home curls around Harry's chest.

He lies with Teddy in the darkened master bedroom while his godson falls asleep, so as not to completely isolate him on their first night in the house.

"Let's pretend we're owls and I'm tucking you into the nest." Harry had said when he carried Teddy upstairs, recalling Ollie the owl and wondering briefly when instances like this had become easier over the past couple weeks.

"And I'm sleeping under your wings," Teddy had responded drowsily, allowing himself to be tucked tightly into Harry's duvet.

Harry held his breath as Teddy buried his head under his godfather's chin and stayed as such until now, stroking a hand to a head of hair that had now finally turned back to its original coppery brown color.

When Teddy is completely asleep and unlikely to stir, Harry trudges downstairs and pads across the flagstones into the barren kitchen.

Earlier that morning, he and Ron had moved a small wooden table from the drawing room to an open spot beside the Aga but now that he looks at it, it seems rather small and Harry quite likes the idea of a large table for everyone to gather around.

Looking about, he's suddenly overcome with a longing for something other than the sound of his own breathing.

He's never really lived alone, he realizes. Even with the Dursleys, he knew someone else was in the house with him and then of course there had been Hogwarts and the comforting sounds and creaks of the Burrow over the last few years.

He wants noise in this house, and laughter and love and the bittersweet want settles heavily on his shoulders.

The windows are still open from the morning and wintery wind blusters through the empty room. Harry catches paper ruffling on one of the countertops, set down by a mug, and when he goes over to inspect the pile, he carefully pulls out a second picture of an owl - this one carefully shaded in orange and red - and Hermione's list of what needs doing around the house.

Looking down at the parchment, he is startled by the sound of an owl at the window. It's Wendell and Harry rushes over to let the bird in. In the chaos and excitement of moving, he had all but forgotten about his second letter to Malfoy.

The letter, like the first one, has been opened and stuffed back into its envelope.

This time, however, Harry notices a large smudge of what looks like charcoal on the bottom of the page.

"Strange." Harry says aloud in the kitchen and Wendell hoots in response. He weighs down the letter along with everything else under the mug and resolves to think about Malfoy tomorrow. He's too tired to give it much thought tonight.

"Well, Wendell. Are you going or staying?" Harry turns to the owl shifting on the windowsill. "Because I'm closing the window. It's too bloody cold outside."

Wendell eyes Harry for a long moment and then takes off into the kitchen and settles on the very highest shelf.

Harry shrugs and flicks experimentally at the light switches on the wall. Nothing. Another addition to the list.

 _Tomorrow_ , he tells himself. _Tomorrow he will start to make this house a home._

* * *

Tomorrow comes incredibly early for Harry when Teddy shakes him awake with that feels like absolute glee. He scrambles for his glasses and wand, ready to blast away whatever White Lady Hermione had wanted to live with them but falls silent when he realizes what he's looking at.

A bright orange fox is sitting neatly at the end of the bed, curious nose sniffing the air in front of him and looking expectantly at both individuals in the bed.

Harry holds his breath, unsure of whether to aim his wand or not, what to do about Teddy and wondering how the hell this animal got into the house in the first place.

The open kitchen windows, he supposes grimly.

The fox's ears and paws are the color of toffee, like it's been lowered and dipped in a vat at the sweets shop, ruff and snout a brilliant white.

"Hullo," Teddy whispers, kneeling upright in his pajamas and holding out a small hand.

"Teddy." Harry warns, fearful that the fox may jump up and bite his godson. "That's a wild animal."

The fox tilts its head and then pushes his nose against Teddy's outstretched hand to which the boy releases a hushed cry of excitement.

Harry lowers his wand and sighs. He slides out of the bed and pads over to where the fox is laying like a large orange blanket. "Alright fox, it's been nice knowing you. But you can't stay here."

The fox whines and stretches down before settling on the end of the bed and rolling over to expose his long white belly.

"Why not?" Teddy wails, expression stricken when Harry meets his eyes.

"Because it's a wild animal, Teddy. It shouldn't be here in the first place."

The fox lets out a crackled sort of sound, not quite a cat and not quite a dog.

"No. That did not mean please stay and make yourself at home - in _my_ home."

The fox rolls back over and nudges his muzzle against Teddy's palm. Teddy crouches more to wrap his arms around the fox's neck.

" _Teddy_." Harry snaps without thinking.

"But he can't go out there, it's cold!"

"He has a fur coat, Teddy, he's supposed to be outside."

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. It is much too early to be dealing with a wild animal in the house and he feels like this is one of those parenting moments he's supposed to be prepared for in telling a child _no, you may not make a wild animal your pet._

"Please, Uncle Harry! He's shivering."

Harry bites his tongue and stops the response that the fox has fur for that very reason and settles for putting his hands on his hips. He drops them when he realizes he probably looks quite like Molly.

"Teddy."

"Please! He needs a home! We have a fox on the door, that's how he knew!"

Harry pauses at that. Considers for a moment and watches his godson who is stroking the fox's velvety ears and murmuring into his neck, which he holds steadfastly in his arms.

"This is a wild animal."

"He's tame." Teddy responds, as though he's the adult in the room.

Harry doesn't know how he's almost forgotten that Teddy's mother was one of the most stubborn women he had ever known and Teddy's father had the cheek and confidence to state plain facts like his son apparently does.

"He can stay for the day." Harry hears himself saying.

"You can stay!" Teddy cheers. "Hello, Crumble. This is your house too, you know."

"Crumble?"

"That's his name." Teddy says confidently, arms still tight around the animal's neck. The fox has his tongue out now, looking the picture of domesticity and like it's completely fine with a four year old hanging on.

"How did you figure that?

"He told me." This, in a tone that Harry doesn't even bother arguing with.

* * *

Crumble, in fact, does not stay one night. Instead, he stays many nights, curled up on the end of Teddy's single bed each night like a large ginger pillow. In lieu of what to feed him, Harry has been giving Crumble raw pieces of chicken and carrot and Teddy diligently abides by his promise to "walk" the fox and uses a sash from a curtain as a lead though Crumble doesn't seem to mind particularly.

And even Harry can't really argue that by the end of the week, Crumble has determinedly nosed his way into the house and has made the empty space feel a little bit more homey, pushing his snout into the corners of the rooms and making a terrible racket when he perches on the windowsill like an oversized cat and snarls at passing pheasants outside.

Harry continues to decorate around The List, as he's taken it calling it but it is not until Monday of the following week when he finds himself with a free day after Ginny offers to take Teddy to the Harpies' practice game.

Wrapping himself up in his warmest layers, Harry sets out after a hearty breakfast of buttered toast and tea in search of an architect. He tucks the page of possible listings torn out of a yellowed phonebook from the house into his pocket and jangles the keys to the old car under the tree.

"Let's see if you still work," Harry tells the car. The key fits neatly into the lock and when he wrenches open the drivers side door, a purple plume of dust escapes out into the cool winter.

Harry coughs and brushes off the steering wheel when he climbs in. "Right then, mister."

To his mild surprise, when he turns the key in the ignition, the car springs to life without a fault.

The drive into town is peaceful. Harry lowers all the windows and breathes in the sharp air as he roars past several houses and the familiar bramble bushes that hug the lane. It's several miles into town until he finds the address he's looking for. He pulls the car over to the side of the road and stops the engine.

The promised real estate agent's office is now a smart looking bookstore. Glittering lights frame the square front window and he watches as an elderly woman exits through the glass-fronted door and waves to someone inside.

Harry looks down at his phonebook page and then tucks it back into his pocket. He supposes a trip to the bookstore before visiting another suggestion won't be all that bad. Perhaps he can pick up something for Teddy and there's a pet store down on the corner where he can possibly buy a proper lead for Crumble.

A delicate bell tinkles above his head when he pushes through the door. Muted lightening warms the rich colors of the books and mahogany bookshelves wink and glow, wrapping the whole shop up like the inside of a present.

Harry takes his time in the children's section of the bookstore. He traces his fingertips along familiar titles and, feeling just the littlest bit excited in what feels like an age, he begins to collect books into his arms. He chooses stories about glittering sea creatures, tigers roaming through London, stories about special Christmas trains that whisk children away to the North Pole, and balances an extra heavy, thick and glossy hardcover collection of Christopher Robin on top of his ever growing pile.

It's only when he can no longer feel his arms that he decides that he should probably leave some of the books for the other children in the town.

He wobbles over to the register and lets out a soft _oof_ when he releases the heavy purchases on the polished counter.

"Oh, my," the shopkeeper beams at him from around the books. "You must have a little one at home, or some very lucky godchildren."

Harry smiles at her apprehensively, something fluttering in his chest that tells him, yes, _you do have a little one at home._

"Just the one at home," he answers. The front counter looks out onto the street and when he glances over the shopkeeper's shoulder, he can see flakes of snow drifting to the ground.

"I bet your wife will be wanting to see these," the shopkeeper continues joyfully as she wraps each book in brown paper and tucks them into several smart ribbon-handled bags.

Harry drags his gaze away from where he's been staring at the flickering snow. "Oh, no. Uh, no wife. It's just me. And Teddy." The something fluttering in his chest snaps like twine and he feels that familiar small ache.

The shopkeeper flushes a bit and Harry is suddenly reminded of Molly, the way she looks at him when she wants nothing more than to bundle him into his arms and shelter him from the rest of the world.

"Oh, you poor thing. I'm sorry for nosing about..." she trails off, clearly searching for a name to apologize to.

"Harry." Harry supplies. "Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter." The smile is back and Harry warms a little. "Francis Maplethorpe." Francis fills three bags of books and sets her hands on the countertop. "You must be new around here."

"A bit. We moved here from London."

"Ooh," Francis clasps her hands together. "London's a nice place isn't it? Was always a bit too fast paced for me and my Charles, but we loved going to the shows back when we did."

Harry smiles at her. "London was nice, but this feels a little...more like home. Actually, I'm hoping you might know someone around here that does up older houses. An architect or something."

"An architect?" Francis pauses in writing out each book into a receipt pad. "Well, unfortunately Stella is gone now - ran off and got married to William down the street, we were _all_ hoping they'd find each other."

"Oh," Harry says, disappointed.

"But," Francis continues, suddenly alight. "I do know of a teacher down at the school. He must know quite a bit about fixing up houses, he was in here a little while ago buying all sorts of books, do it yourself type books. Teaches art at the school on the side I think. You know, you young men around here all strapping and wanting to do it yourself. Not like in my day, I'll tell you."

Harry doesn't think the local art teacher is exactly what he's looking for and hums noncommittally. He continues to watch the snow that now swirls down onto the cobblestones and he thinks of Teddy with Ginny and watching Quidditch practice and what book he'll read to him tonight.

Francis continues, voice floating around him.

"-he's a nice young man, he is. Such a dear. Lots of that lovely blonde hair."

Harry nods.

"Bit of an odd name too. Draco. Like in the sky I suppose-"

Harry whips his head from the window to stare at Francis. "What?"

"Don't say what, dear, say pardon."

"Sorry." Harry shakes his head. "Pardon?"

"Draco." Francis repeats. "The art teacher down the road who does up houses, like I've been telling you. Not a name you hear around here, that's true. Very polite though, always nicely dressed."

"Yeah. Nicely dressed." Harry echoes. He feels like he's been suddenly upended and the blood rushes around his ears.

"I don't know how old your one is, but if they're old enough, Mr. Malfoy'd be a lovely teacher-"

"How long has he been a teacher?" Harry interrupts.

Francis blinks. "Ooh, I'd say maybe a few years now. Two or three. Moved here from boarding school I've heard. Privately educated I reckon, those posh boys always are. But like I said before, he's a polite one. Quiet-"

"Thank you, Francis," Harry cuts her off again and pushes away the guilt at interrupting her. He'll come back and apologize when he doesn't feel as though someone is standing on his chest. He reaches for the bags on the counter and slides several crisp notes from his pocket across the counter.

He forces his mouth into a smile.

"I'm sorry, I'll have to be back to chat. I've forgotten I, uh, I need to be somewhere."

Several minutes later Harry practically flings himself out of the shop front, stows the books in the car boot, and sprints in the direction Francis had pointed when he'd asked what school Draco taught at.

 _Malfoy_. A _bloody teacher_. A bloody sodding _Muggle_ teacher in the middle of the bloody sodding countryside in the middle of Harry's town.

Harry slides around the iced over stones on the sidewalk as he hurries through the crowds, gripping lampposts for balance as he goes. He's almost reached the corner by the pet store when he feels his feet slip out from under him and he lands hard on his back in the snow. The air shoots from his mouth in a white puff and he stares at the silvery sky above him, thoughts of Malfoy racing through his head at whip-like speed.

The returned owls and Andromeda's cryptic note about the git make sense now.

But it _can't_ be, Harry blinks.

He'd assumed-

Harry had never thought that Malfoy's lack of presence in the Wizarding world and dwindling appearances in the Prophet meant that Malfoy had actually _left_ his life behind. He'd merely thought he'd run off to some posh retreat in the South of France with Pansy Parkinson and the rest of the Slytherin lot.

Not that Harry had a particular problem with that, of course, when he'd testified for the family to shutter their sentencing to Azkaban but that had been _Before_ -

Harry grips the surrounding snow in angry fists.

Before Teddy and his countless attempts to notify Malfoy that he had a cousin and, _okay_ -

"Sorry, are you alright? You took quite the fall." A young woman with long dark hair peers into Harry's line of vision and he blinks, realizing stupidly that he's been lying in the snow for quite some time now. "Would you like me to call someone?"

Harry levers himself up, cheeks hot with embarrassment. "No, sorry. I was just-I'm fine. I promise. Thank you though."

The woman gives him a curious look and Harry placates her with a smile and a brush off of the snow that's gathered along the back of his coat and sunk into his collar.

As soon as she's turned back into the pet shop, Harry's anger at Malfoy returns and he grinds his jaw.

 _How dare he ignore Harry and Teddy and run away from his life with no care or responsibility._

Angry for Teddy and for himself and for Remus and Tonks and Andromeda and Sirius, Harry's fury carries him down the cobblestones and out of the main flush of crowds in town.

He feels like he did in Dumbledore's office and it's a pity, he thinks far down in the space reserved for being sixteen again, that he doesn't have anymore silver instruments to destroy.

It's two miles later, however, past several pastures of cows and blanketed horses, over crunchy fields, and down too many sodding paths that Harry realizes "just down the road" does not mean what it should.

His initial anger has wilted like a sail on a ship, and he trails through the snow like a listless raincloud now, brushing his hands over uneven church stonewalls and through the holly brushes.

 _Malfoy, I've found you!_ He imagines himself grinding out, throwing himself into the classroom theatrically.

Harry sighs out loud, breath coming out in a cloud. What is he going to accomplish now? Charge Malfoy in the middle of his class? Tackle him to the ground in the schoolyard yet again?

He comes to a slow stop along a low slung, redbrick wall when he realizes what he's staring at is in fact the school.

The Rosemary School is spelled out in elegant script along a black painted sign and fastened to a wrought iron fence that connects to the wall.

It's a private school, Harry decides. It's set far back from the country lane Harry has just stomped along and he's suddenly rooted to the spot.

He feels as though he's intruding. Intruding on someone other than Malfoy's life, a Muggle Malfoy evidently, and interrupting some strangely fit together escape.

If Frances is correct and the man has indeed been a teacher at the school for three years, whatever Malfoy has decided does not obviously include Harry marching into his neat little world and thrusting him back into Wizarding society and demanding some kind of familial bond.

He doesn't know how long he stands there in the gravel car park, staring at the black trimmed long windows, wrought iron railings and steps leading up to two French doors but he estimates it's fairly long when snow flurries start up again just as the sun descends into the hillside.

Harry's about to give up on catching a glimpse of Malfoy and rescue his own frozen back side when the creak of the iron gates and the hinge of the French doors startle him off the main path.

He casts a hasty disillusionment charm over himself and, feeling slightly like he's back in sixth year stalking Malfoy through the corridors, scampers off the gravel to the frozen grass lining the car park.

A severe-looking woman with hair pulled back into an unforgiving ballerina bun pushes open the doors and children in neat uniforms spill out, shaking hands with the woman Harry assumes to be the headmistress. Cars of all sorts crumble through the circular drive, mothers and fathers here to pick up their children and Harry is struck by the thought of himself doing this, of picking up Teddy from school each day.

He's about to give up and Apparate back into town when something light flickers out of the corner of his eye.

The waning winter sun catches Malfoy's white blonde head of hair, now slightly longer, curling around his collar and waving over his forehead.

He is-

Harry isn't quite sure what he's looking at or what Malfoy is, but he continues to stare at a man he hasn't seen in years as he clicks easily down the steps behind the students and wraps a tartan scarf around his neck.

He's still dressed as expensive as he always has, Harry notices, but it's unnerving to see Malfoy in Muggle clothing, in a closely tailored pair of charcoal window check trousers and navy blue cashmere sweater. Brown leather boots are sleek but serviceable for the snow and a weathered waxed jacket hangs off his slender frame.

Malfoy hoists a messenger bag up onto his shoulder and across his chest, as he makes his way down the steps and secures the clasps over what Harry discerns as a lofty stack of workbooks.

Probably to mark.

Because Malfoy is a fucking normal teacher in a middle of nowhere posh day school, now getting on to a, Harry takes a shuddering breath, an old _motorbike_.

Harry, still invisible, hurtles himself across the car park, narrowly missing a departing van and all considerations for Malfoy's privacy as the man carefully eases out of the parking spot, boots walking backward over the gravel.

He's about to step out of the way when he quite unexpectedly meets Malfoy's eyes in the side mirror.

Harry goes rigid, his heart leaping into his throat and feeling like a naughty school child all over again before he remembers the charm and that Malfoy can't actually see him.

But Malfoy has stopped reversing the bike and his cool grey gaze is pinned to where Harry is standing.

Harry blinks, unsure of what else to do now.

A few moments pass in which Harry continues to stand in the way and Malfoy keeps his bike in reverse before he seems to decide something and continues to back the contraption out of his spot.

Harry steps away, feeling helpless and stupid that he believed Francis and her "just down the road" bit.

He can't even follow Malfoy now.

He watches the motorbike crunch over the stones, rotate out of the school grounds and turn left before disappearing down the lane.

* * *

To be continued very soon! Let me know what you think - I'm so happy to begin writing about Draco now! Peri xx


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